


the dice were loaded from the start

by 1000_directions



Category: Destroyer (2018)
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 06:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Erin and Chris were fucking for so long before she fell in love with him. She always does things backwards.





	the dice were loaded from the start

**Author's Note:**

> This story probably makes sense even if you haven't seen _Destroyer_. Contains some spoilers, but not much more than what you would have already seen in the trailer.
> 
> Please be aware that this story references bad experiences from Erin's past in very short asides, including painful sex, painful loss of virginity, slut-shaming, scars from abuse (cigarette burns). There is also a reference to her having sex with a twenty-four year old man when she was fifteen. None of these experiences were with Chris.

Everyone had to think they were fucking. They were undercover as a couple, and their lives depended on them being convincing, so they kissed in public where everyone could witness, and they grinned through the wolf whistles and the filthy jokes, and then eventually one of them would drag the other off to their bedroom and lock the door. And sometimes they’d press their faces close together, whispering the details of their cover stories back and forth until they knew each other by heart. And sometimes they’d just sit together and talk about movies or TV shows, or they’d reminisce about where they each used to hang out after school when they were teenagers. And sometimes Erin would just curl up on the bed, her head propped up against Chris’ solid thigh, and she’d take a nap while he kept watch.

At first, they just pretended they were fucking, but they were undercover for so long, and they couldn’t exactly go out and fuck anyone else, so it just made sense for them to start fucking for real. That’s what Erin told herself, the first few times. It was practical. Chris was right there, and he was the only one she even halfway trusted, and sometimes, she just wanted to close a door and get all the way naked with someone. Clothes, fake identities, cover stories. She wanted to strip it all off and be _seen_.

They were fucking for so long before she fell in love with him. She always does things backwards.

She overhears something when she’s idling in the hallway, details of a heist that she isn’t supposed to know about. But this is what they’re here for, the two of them. This is their job. So she goes to find Chris downstairs in the kitchen. He’s talking to Arturo and drinking a beer, and she walks right up behind him and presses her body to his, whispers, “I need you, babe,” right against his ear, and he smiles at Arturo and shrugs with a shit-eating grin. But when he turns to her, his gaze softens, and that’s just so Chris. He’s all bravado for the boys, and he saves all his secret tenderness just for her.

 _I need you_ is a code they use, but they use it for lots of different things. She needs to tell him what she overheard, but when they’re in the bedroom with the door closed and his mouth just inches from hers, she needs other things, too.

He spins her around, caging her against the door. Her right cheek is pressed against the chipped paint, and all she can see is the corner of the room, the door hinges, the faded wallpaper. She’s closed in, and she feels the heat of him on her back, the way his dick becomes interested against her ass while he mouths at her neck, sucking hot, wet kisses into her tattoo. His breath is molten against her skin, and she imagines the black circles on her neck turning red and swollen under his persistent mouth.

The first time they met, Chris seemed so much older than her. He had a thick head of hair and a well-groomed beard, and he sat there with his plaid shirt buttoned all the way up to the top, and she thought he looked like a professor. Like someone’s dad from a sitcom. He was good-looking in a standard, obvious way that didn’t appeal to her, but he was cute enough and decent enough and she figured she would get through the assignment okay.

And then he got that haircut with the sides all shaved off and just a little bit left on top, and the first time she saw him dressed to play the part, she thought they’d ruined him. But then he flicked his eyes over to her and looked at her so hard she felt his gaze on her skin like fingers. Chris has a way of seeing all the outsides and the insides of her at the same time. He looked at her openly, so intense and serious and knowing, and her thighs tensed right up like she was trying to hold something back. He’d seemed so much smaller before, but she realized he wasn’t small at all. He was thick and muscled and powerful, and she liked him so much better that way, shorn down and raw and on display.

Chris has a way of making her feel small and kind of delicate. She doesn’t need looking after, hasn’t for a long time, but she likes how he takes care of her. Here in their room, they’re not performing for anyone but themselves. He’s got his hands on her hips and he can span almost her whole waist, and she closes her eyes and lets him feel her. His fingers are enormous and possessive on her torso, greedily slipping under her camisole and devouring her warm skin, and he follows the sway of her stomach as she breathes in and out and in and out, breathing in the smell of him. The others don’t always take such good care of themselves, but Chris does. Even under the cigarette smoke and the booze and the dust that settles everywhere, he always smells clean.

When she was a girl, she felt out of proportion and _wrong_ , like her body was incorrect. Defective somehow. The other kids called her a giraffe, because she was tall, because she was freckly, because she was gangly and ungainly. From a young age, she felt unlovable, unfuckable.

Chris throws her back into balance, the way he holds her. When he scoops her up effortlessly and lays her out on the bed, she feels feminine and pretty like she never has before. He wiggles down her jean shorts and kisses the inside of her knee before he settles in between her thighs, and she props herself up on her elbows so she can watch. She likes to see him down there, likes to watch the way his scalp gets red when he flushes from the exertion of eating her out. He works for it. She places one careful hand on his head, feeling the spiky bits of stubble with her fingertips, and she bites her lip and watches him work her.

His mouth is unreal. He’s so good at making her come. He cares so much about making sure that she comes.

The first person Erin had sex with was her second boyfriend, and after he came inside her and made her bleed a little bit, he said that actually she was looser than he’d been expecting, and he asked if she’d been lying about being a virgin, and maybe she was just a lying slut like all the other girls her age. She was fifteen, and he was twenty-four, and she stayed with him for ten more months after that, because she loved him.

She wants to throw up when she remembers that. She was so fucking naïve, to think _that’s_ what love felt like. When she compares that to what she feels now for Chris, she doesn’t know if love is even a strong enough word. He’s the only good thing in her world.

After Chris gets her off, he undresses and lies down next to her on the bed, waiting for her to catch her breath and make a move. He kisses her shoulder, and his mouth is obscene against her skin. His beard is wet and smells like her, and she just got off, but she thinks she could go again.

She rolls onto her side and smiles at him, and he looks so fucking sexy when the light hits him this way. He’s so masculine. He’s such a man, and she strokes her fingertips down the side of his broad neck until he closes his eyes, like she’s so overwhelming he can’t even look at her. She sits up a bit, runs her fingers down his body, just barely catching him with her nails, and his breath gets a little shaky as she breezes over his abs. He’s half-hard, and she wraps both her hands around his dick. He’s on the short side of average, but he’s thick, and it turns them both on when she uses two hands on him, like she’s so little and he’s so much, like she can barely contain him.

The first two guys she slept with both had long dicks and short tempers, and it wasn’t until she was twenty-two that she finally figured out that sex wasn’t actually supposed to hurt every time.

Chris gets harder in her hands, a little thicker and so warm, and she feels so wet and ready for him. She always needs him to some degree, there is always an ambient desire buzzing in her veins, but when she really needs him, she needs him immediately, desperately, and she knows she wears it on her face. She’s easy and open for him, and he just looks at her and knows it.

“Relax,” he murmurs, and his voice is so low she feels it vibrate between her legs. And then she feels his hand on her hip, and that’s the only warning she gets before he smoothly pushes one long finger into her, then a second. And she exhales, shaky and halting, as he feels his way inside her, testing the give of her body and making sure she’s ready even though she’s so ready, she’s _been_ ready.

“I’m good,” she says, but he always checks anyway. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, but he knows that sometimes she’s no good at taking care of herself when she gets desperate, so he takes care of them both.

He pulls out of her and lets his hand fall to his side, and she sees the way his fingertips shine in the dim bedroom light. He gets her so wet, and they both know it. He watches through hooded eyes as she leans down and fits her mouth to his dick, just slicking up the head a little bit to ease the first push, and then she climbs into his lap and holds him steady while she slowly sinks down onto him.

He’s huge inside her. He feels huge when he’s first stretching her open, and her body subtly shifts to accommodate him. And she always thinks maybe she won’t be able to make it work this time, but it works, inch by inch. She lets him all the way inside her.

“Christ, you’re tight,” he says, almost reverently, and she loves him so much she wants to cry. Instead, she moves his arms so they’re above his head, and she presses his wrists down into the pillow. His arms are enormous, heavy, but he lets himself be moved, and he smiles lazily up at her, and she grinds down onto his dick until he’s hitting every spot she’s got.

The first time she saw Chris smile was at a diner, the first time they were undercover together out in public. The jukebox in the corner started playing “Romeo and Juliet” by Dire Straits, and he grinned at her and said, easy as anything, “Babe, it’s our song.”

And she watched the way his face changed, the way he stopped being serious and became someone different, someone lighter. He became her boyfriend for the first time, humming along to the song. She will never forget it, the way he wiggled his eyebrows to sing “Hey la, my boyfriend’s back” in the goofiest voice she’d ever heard. They were pretending, it was all pretend, but the way he made her laugh was real, and his smile was so pure and unassuming and sunny, and she stopped being nervous around him. After that, it was so easy to pretend to love him.

After that, it was so easy to love him for real.

She works herself on his dick until they both come, and then she slides off him and lays her head on his chest, kissing at his warm skin, savoring the feel of his chest hair against her sated lips. She rubs her thighs against each other just to feel how slippery she is from him, and she feels satisfied enough to purr. He pulls away just long enough to grab a cigarette from the pack on the floor, and he lights it and then hands it to her first.

And she takes a drag while he wraps an arm around her, touches the sweaty place on the back of her neck, touches the jut of her collarbone and the mole beneath her left breast. He touches the back of her right upper arm where she hides a small collection of cigarette burns, and his fingers are knowing and soft and no different from how he touches her any other place. He touches her ugliest parts like they’re just something else about her; for the first time in her life, her body feels like more than just a collection of the things that have happened to her against her will.

He loves her. He _loves_ her. They never should have found each other this way, never should have gotten involved like this, but everything was always leading here.

She thinks about the after. The future. Someday, this assignment will be over, and they’ll have the entire rest of their lives to be together. They’ll get older. His hair will grow back, and his beard will turn grey, and she’ll love that older Chris just like she loves this younger Chris. Her face will wrinkle, and her body will sag, and he’ll still think she’s beautiful.

She passes the cigarette back to him, and his mouth touches the place that her mouth just was as he takes a slow drag, and the smoke is still visible in the air above their heads when he asks, “Have you ever seen snow? Not like in movies. Real snow.”

“Never,” she says softly. She’s never even left Southern California, not once in her life. “Have you?”

“Yeah,” he says, squinting at the ceiling. “With my dad.”

Erin knows a little about his family. His dad was almost fifty when he was born, and Chris was only ten when he had a heart attack and died. His mom pretty much checked out after that, and he was mostly raised by two much older sisters. And he turned out just gentle enough, just tough enough, so all of them must have done something right.

“I was seven,” Chris says. “Maybe eight? My old man took me out of school early one day and drove me out to the mountains. You’ve never been?” She shakes her head. “It’s only a few hours away, but it’s a different world. It was just the two of us, and it was…. Erin, it was endless.”

“Sounds nice,” she says, touching her thumb to his cheekbone.

“It was nice,” he agrees, and a small muscle twitches in his jaw. “It was a good memory. Something I’d want to do with my kids someday, I guess.”

“Yeah?” They’ve never talked about anything like this.

“Yeah.” He smiles hesitantly at her, and his sweet uncertainty is so appealing to her. She leans down and kisses him, just a smudge of her mouth against his. She steals his breath, his vulnerability, and she keeps it safe inside of her.

“I think that would be really nice,” she says, and he smiles wider.

“I’ll take you someday,” he says. “I’ll take you to see the snow, babe.”

He hands her the cigarette and tightens his arms around her. Erin takes a drag, and her mouth touches the place that his mouth just was, and she closes her eyes, and she imagines seeing snow for the first time with the person she loves most.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/182329698074/the-dice-were-loaded-from-the-start-by)


End file.
